


T.N.T./I Am Dynamite

by YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexuality, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Post-Purgatory, Season 8, european mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first time since Purgatory that he's allowed himself to let go. Honestly, he has no idea how he's managed to go this long without alcohol and sex, but he's going to fix it, fast. Lucky for him, there's someone interested and just <i>maybe</i>, he looks a little like a certain angel with unnervingly blue eyes. It seems Cas is determined to follow him everywhere even when he's dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	T.N.T./I Am Dynamite

**Author's Note:**

> Title: AC/DC - T.N.T
> 
> Beta by **dragonflybeach** from tumblr :) Thank you!
> 
>    
> This is technically the first piece of Supernatural fanfiction I've written, I hope Dean, Cas and Sam aren't too badly OOC. Allow for some Purgatory-induced character development for Dean.  
>    
> Enjoy!

 

The dull thud of the bottle rolling off the table goes quite unnoticed by Dean, who is sprawled out very comfortably in his seat, with a lapful of some giggling brunette in an outfit that barely left anything to his imagination.

“Another one of those… drinks, please,” he slurs a little, making the girl laugh much too loud for his liking again. Yeah, maybe he’s had a couple too many drinks – hell, he’d been pretty sure he couldn’t even get drunk anymore, but apparently all that ceased to matter some bottles ago.

“Dean, you’re wasted,” Sam cringes from across the table, having barely touched his drink. “Let’s get out of here and do some more research back at the motel,” he moves to get up but Dean has no such intentions, barely letting a chuckle escape past his lips.

“You can go nerd-gasm over your laptop, I’m staying right… here,” Dean grins at the brunette, well, sort of more like at her tits, receiving a disgusted glare from Sam.

“...And you’re obnoxious,” he states and with that’s he’s up and away.

“Bye bye, Samantha,” Dean grins at him, waving sloppily with his free hand.

“You better be back in for the night, or I’m coming back to haul your ass over to the motel myself,” Sam reproaches him, but the older Winchester really couldn’t care less at this point.

“Dean, we’re on a job,” Sam grits out between his teeth and his expression quite clearly communicates just how much he’d like to punch his brother in the face. Then he sees Dean tuck in a ten dollar note into the brunette’s lacy bra, and he’s done. He turns on the spot and walks away, making a mental note to kick Dean’s ass when he’s hung over in the morning, just to make this a particularly memorable experience. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

When Sam is gone, Dean orders another drink and then another and he’s so fucking drunk he can barely see straight it’s awesome because it’s the first time since Purgatory that he’s allowed himself to let go a little. Honestly, he has no idea how he has survived this long without going on a victory prowl after a hunt and he hasn’t got laid since forever and that thought physically _hurts_. He’s Dean fucking Winchester and it seems like this has been the longest he has gone without sex in his entire miserable life. The brunette has wandered off some moments ago, twisting her hips tauntingly as she left to get another drink and Dean realises he’s probably just been blown off, not unlikely cause he’s barely able to string together a coherent sentence, but as he looks past the mini skirt, there’s some guy staring straight at him unblinkingly from all the way across the club, hidden away in a corner all by himself. Dean could swear he wasn’t there a moment ago, but then again he could probably say a great many untrue things right now. The guy looks normal, slightly messy dark hair, shirt and tie – probably just back from a late night at work. Dean watches as he swallows his drink, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down and – hell, the guy’s eyes are blue. They look back at him unblinkingly still and it seems like he _knows_. Dean feels exposed and awkward, but he really can’t be blamed because the guy suddenly seems like best thing that’s happened to him since… and he walks up, not quite sure how he made it across the swarm of people without falling over and killing someone, but he somehow manages to sit down across the table from blue-eyes and he’s fumbling for words in his vast yet suddenly blank dictionary of Dean Winchester Pick Up Lines.

“You’re a hunter,” the other man speaks first and his voice is even worse than Dean expected – he’d braced himself against gravely low, seductive tones but this was completely out of this world. He nods dumbly, but his eyes narrow a little, questioning the stranger.

“Takes one to know one,” the man grins at him, it’s not very big but it still makes him feel like all the oxygen has spontaneously fled the room. “My name is Ivan,” he reaches for something in his pocket and Dean is instantly on guard, well – as well as he can be, because he’s still seeing quadruple. The other hunter pulls out a silver knife from his jacket and slides it over the table to Dean. Of course he inspects it carefully and it’s really neat, not a scratch on the pretty little thing and it looks like it could cut a werewolf in half with one swing, no problem.

“Why are you just handing it over to me?” Dean raises an eyebrow but maybe it doesn’t quite work because Ivan just chuckles and finishes the rest of his drink in one go.

“Take it as a sign of good faith for a … fruitful partnership,” Ivan’s foreign accent creeps in now, but Dean can’t quite place it. He can’t really think of much except for how much he’d like to bang that round about now, because he feels hot and he’s drunk and he’s desperate. He is so far past caring that he hasn’t slept with a guy since before the whole mess with their dad which has been a good couple of years and he’s pretty damn sure that blue-eyes hasn’t been staring at him for so long just to discuss a business partnership.

“You working a case around here?” he forces himself to grind out finally and he’s pretty sure that didn’t sound quite as casual as he’d hoped.

“Something like that,” Ivan inclines his head in a way that oddly reminds him of… Dean shakes his head because although he really hopes it’s not all over, reality is screaming otherwise right in his bloody ear every time Sam leaves him be for longer than three minutes.

“Alright,” Dean nods a little, not at all sure where the conversation is going. He’d always found it more difficult to talk to guys anyway.

“I can’t talk about it here,” Ivan’s eyes briefly roll over the undulating pool of people around them. “Somebody could be listening.” Dean agrees wholeheartedly to follow him out, new knife tucked away safely, though he really, really hopes he’s got the guy’s meaning right and he’s not about to make a complete ass of himself ‘cause he’s drunk and his dick is an impatient bastard. They go out the back and as expected, walk right past a few couples which are making out rather loudly. Dean’s sobered up – just a little – and his hopes for actions are dropping quickly because they’ve gone quite far away and the guy hasn’t said a word, so maybe he actually means business. He’s not quite started to feel disappointed yet and suddenly, Ivan turns around and crashes their lips together violently. He’s greedy and he takes all that Dean’s admittedly skilled mouth can give. Dean can fee stubble prickling his face and damn, it’s freaking hot. He pours everything into the kiss, his whole body responding and pressing up against Ivan. His eyes slip open for just a second and something feels odd, but the rough hands of the other man are now tangled in his jacket and all he can do is give in to the pleasure. He barely spares a thought to the fact they’re still outside, in a shady, narrow alley blocked up by shitty cars, before he feels a hand slip down to his belt. He’s really totally down with getting it on right there, cause his cock is throbbing like mad, but then there’s a crash and a scream and he instinctively snaps out of it, looking around in alert. Ivan’s eyes are glowing a sort of golden, fiery colour and if it wasn’t for Dean’s reliable instincts, he probably would have just stood and stared, but he has his gun out already and he’s pushing away. Ivan is much stronger though and it really doesn’t help that there’s still copious amounts of alcohol pumping enthusiastically in Dean’s veins.

Well, it turns out that getting thrown into the side of a car headfirst does wonders for sobering up fast, but he’s still fucked because the next thing he can see is a blur of red and gold before everything blacks out. Damn it.

❖

“Dean!” Sam’s frantic voice wakes him. His vision is blurry and his head hurts like fuck, but he forces himself up despite every bone in his body protesting with searing pain.

“Fuck,” he spits out a mouthful of half dried up blood and looks around. It’s light outside, he’s probably been out for a couple of hours. There’s an odd smell and it takes him a good minute to figure out its coming from his jacket. Where he’d placed the silver knife last night was now a blob of stinking goo.

“Dean!” Sam shows up from around the corner and he’s out of breath, looking at him worriedly.

“Where the hell have you been?” he hisses and there it is – the famous Winchester shift from worry to anger.

“Got knocked out,” Dean grinds out, his tongue feels swollen up and it’s difficult to speak. Sam’s eyebrows shoot way up, like this is the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Are you ok?” he finally says, glancing over Dean more carefully now. “And why do you smell like you’ve been swimming in horse manure?”

Dean cringes as his brother takes a step back with his face screwed up in disgust.

“Well at least I’m not dead,” he forces a smile on his face and turns around to shove his jacket in the nearest bin, because it stinks. As much as he hates to part with it, he also can’t be bothered washing out a pocket full of shit out of it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, man,” Sammy finally says, but the smug bastard is grinning like he thinks Dean can’t see. Begrudgingly, Dean follows him back to the motel and tries desperately not to think that he’d almost let some flaming serpent bastard touch his junk.

For the next couple of days Dean is as sour as a rotting lemon, still trying to shake off the feeling of being violated by some unknown creature. Sam keeps on pestering him to tell him what happened, but he’d honestly rather take this whole fiasco to the grave with him than come clean and admit that Sammy had been right when he’d asked if Dean wasn’t strictly into women some years ago. It’s not that he’s ashamed of himself or anything, but he rather cherishes his reputation as a ladies’ man. And it’s hardly that he likes guys, because he could count his encounters with the same sex on one hand. He just doesn’t feel the need to announce it to the world, because it’s no big deal.

Sam doesn’t let the topic die easily though. He’s constantly projecting the bitchface at Dean and asks if he’s ok about every five minutes, which makes Dean want to punch his teeth out.

“I’m fine, Sam,” he spits out again, though really, he feels like complete and utter crap.

“No you’re not! You’ve lost weight, you’re depressed and you’re clearly hiding something!” Sam shoots back, folding his arms stubbornly. Dean’s not about to let up though and collapses on the bed, ignoring his brother altogether.

It’s not until the hallucinations start that he thinks Sam might actually have a point. Damn. He keeps on seeing blood all over his hands – which is nothing new, but at least he usually knows how it got there. He sometimes sees his teeth falling out and his ears bleeding when he looks in a mirror. Something is seriously wrong, so he relents, however much he loathes having to do it at all.

He tells Sam about Ivan.

“So…” Sam’s brows furrow seriously and he’s staring incredulously at Dean. “You got jumped by a flying serpent which also happened to be on fire and you’re only telling me this now?” the look his brother gives him could probably kill and Dean wants to bury himself in a hole and never come out again.

“How did it even get a jump on you? Dude, you’re on guard even when you’re sleeping,” Sam’s suspicious now and hell, this totally isn’t going the way he was hoping.

“Sam, it doesn’t matter,” he tries to argue, but it’s really a lost cause. Sam has already dived into research and he’s calling Bobby for help. Dean wishes for a brief moment that he hadn’t left Purgatory. It was pure, raw and every day he felt alive, even as he continued fighting for survival with a vampire and an angel on his side. The thought makes him feel sick with guilt and regret, so he turns away from Sammy and tries to clear his head before any more uncomfortable questions pop up.

It turns out there’s at least three things this freak could possibly be and that’s not even the bad news, because the next day Dean’s hallucinations get worse. He’s seeing Cas now, never for longer than for a second, but it’s driving him crazy because until now he’d been on a Purgatory-induced adrenaline rush and he hasn’t stopped long enough to think about how much he misses the angel and his insistent, uncomfortable staring.

Sam must now think he’s gone totally off his rocker, but at least it gets them a lead on the spook who thought it’d be a good idea to try and jump Dean Winchester of all the people in town.

“The creature is called a Letun,” Sam scrunches up his nose as he reads his findings out loud. “It’s a sort of Fire Serpent, though they usually go for…widows,” he gives Dean a weird look which he absolutely refuses to interpret as anything other than his little brother being a bitch as usual.

“An encounter with one is usually followed by weight loss, depression and hallucinations… and the gifts they may woo their victims with turn to horse manure by dawn,” Sammy is now smugly smiling up at Dean and the next question is already clear as day on his face.

“What did it give you?” Sam’s tone is reproachful and curious at the same time.

Dean would really rather just go gank the bastard straight away but he finds himself replying anyway.

“A silver knife,” he says and god damnit, can’t Sammy just leave it at that?

_No, of course not._

“So you just accepted the gift from some stranger in the club? That doesn’t sound terribly like the trust-no-one Dean that I know,” Sam’s persistent stare is boring holes into the sides of his skull and he starts to fidget.

“Well… he said he was a hunter,” he finally says, inclining his head a bit, but still doesn’t miss the triumphant smirk on his brother’s face.

“What?!” he snarls defensively, making Sam laugh.

“So it was a he,” Sam sounds disgustingly smug.

“What about it?” Dean’s shoulders tense up despite himself – it’s no big deal, he repeats in his head.

“And you were with him in some random back alley?”

“Shut up Sammy, he was telling me about a job, ok!” Dean glares at him but the younger Winchester knows better than to be intimidated by that, because he has Dean cornered this time.

“He looked a bit like Cas,” Dean finally murmurs, hating how much his chest seems to constrict upon saying the name he’s spend the last couple of months avoiding like the plague. Sam’s smug smirk vanishes in about 0.2 seconds and now he looks far more like someone’s just kicked a puppy. For once he leaves the topic be and lets Dean drink a bottle of Jack in silence.

❖

The next day Dean’s throwing up blood, but not really, and Sammy is adamant about catching the flaming fucker and slicing his head clean off right now, because hallucinations have all too recently been a pain in their ass and he’s not having a re-run of that again.

They look all over town, but the snaky bitch clearly isn’t around anymore and they have to branch out with Bobby’s help and a few phone calls. They finally find him hiding round some shady warehouse 50 miles south, which is pretty lucky because Dean now can’t see through the blood leaking out of his eyes. Gross.

The snake is fast and it kicks their asses for a good ten minutes before Sammy manages to stick a silver knife in its unhinged jaw, followed by a quick slice across the neck. They lay on the ground, panting, when with a soft rustle, a very familiar sandy colour fills Dean’s vision.

“Cas,” he chokes out in complete disbelief. It comes out strangled and weak, but what the hell. It’s Cas. It has to be.

“Hello Dean,” the angel returns in his familiar, low rumble of a voice which sounds more like heavenly hymns to Dean’s ears right now. He looks ragged and there’s blood all over his trenchcoat and he smells of dirt and dust, but when Dean practically launches himself to hug him, he’s still as stiff and awkward as ever. Dean’s arms are shaking on the angel’s shoulders and he holds on as though all hell would break loose if he let Cas out of his grasp again. Somewhere in the background he maybe hears Sam’s sloppy attempt to make sense of his too-long limbs and get up, but he’s still clutching on to Cas, thinking he’s back, he’s alive over and over in his head like a desperate mantra.

“Dean…” the angel seems taken aback by the sudden closeness and squirms a little within the embrace. Dean reluctantly draws away and it feels like all the moisture in his body has run up to his eyes, because his mouth feels dry and unable to make a single sound while the two treacherous optical organs are attempting to make a giant crybaby out of him.

“You’re alive?” Sam saves him asking the question which is weighing his tongue down like lead. Castiel turns around to look coolly at him and nods hesitantly.

“How’d you get out?” Dean finally regains control of himself. “I was there, and angel of the Lord or not, you can’t have made it out alone after all that,” he says sourly, recalling the drop in his stomach when Castiel’s sweaty, dirty fingers slipped through his own and he saw the angel fall out of sight before he was consumed by blinding blue light. He could still feel the desperation of Cas’ call for him reverberating through his whole being, suddenly feeling short of air.

“I don’t know,” the angel’s gaze drops guiltily.

“How can you not know?” Dean’s voice lowers a little and he clenches his fists. He’s frustrated and fucking sick of always being in the dark about everything. Sam walks up to them and pushes Dean away from Cas a little with a gentle pull on his shoulder.

“So… how long have you been back?” he cuts in before Dean can start being a bitch and scare away the angel again. The older Winchester understands this all too well and begrudgingly shuts his mouth in favour of carefully looking at Cas – it seems like he’s barely even standing and could break any moment. Dean’s not even going to try to label how many kinds of wrong that is. He’s supposed be a bloody Angel of the Lord. Hell, he even became God for a while.

And now he was swaying on his feet, covered in blood and dirt, looking like death warmed over. He’s unresponsive. Dean’s shoulders drop as a wave of guilt washes over him so strongly he feels sick, so he does the only thing he can think of and throws Castiel’s arm over his own shoulder and begins to drag him slowly towards the motel, careful at every step. The angel’s eyelids keep fluttering shut and his head bobs up and down as he tries to fight exhaustion. It’s such a disturbingly human thing to do, that Dean doesn’t even know what to think of it – so he ignores it altogether and carries on walking, dismissing his brother’s insistent chattering he can hear from a few steps behind them.

He holds onto Castiel tightly and pushes forward. It’s a start.

❖

When Cas is cleaned up and resting on the bed, Dean still can’t calm down. Sammy is telling him not to blame himself or something, he doesn’t really care. He sits by the angel’s side and nervously fidgets with his hands. It’s his fault that the angel had to go through all that. He watches quietly as Castiel’s eyes snap open almost mechanically and he sits up, stiff angel movements and all.

“Dean,” he says, staring unblinkingly at the hunter with those intense eyes, which somehow seem cooler than ever, making Dean’s stomach twist and turn uncomfortably.

“How are you feeling?” he forces himself to ask, his voice just a little too light, trying to avoid Castiel’s intrusive gaze.

“My physical form has fully recovered.”

The angel shifts a little, not letting Dean look away.

“What did Sam mean, that you missed me so much you almost died from grief?” Cas asks levelly.

He clearly has no idea how much it costs Dean not to scoff and bury himself in denials seven inches thick. The thing is, he can’t lie to Cas, not after dishonesty had once ruined everything between them and pushed the world to the brink of destruction.

“When did he say that?” he replies, surprised slightly and maybe he’s stalling just a little longer because this is what Dean Winchester, _denial extraordinaire_ , does.

“When you were helping me walk back here,” Castiel replies calmly, though maybe there’s a slight hint of urgency buried in there. Dean runs a hand through his hair nervously, but he smiles anyway. Hell, maybe he will scare Cas off or whatever, but at least the lucky feathered bastard is alive and safe again.

“There was this creature… a Letun or something,” Dean finally says, not really knowing where to start.

Castiel’s eyes widen a little. It seems like he knows where this is going, but the hunter is going to say it all now, or never.

“He reminded me of you,” Dean says and oddly, it’s like the simplest thing he’s ever had to say. “I missed you,” he admits with a little grin tugging at his lips despite the guilt still shifting just beneath his thoughts. Cas looks frozen for a long moment and Dean opens his mouth to follow it up with some sort of excuse, of course, Sam missed Cas too….

But Castiel beats him to it.

“I missed you too, Dean,” he returns a small smile, making Dean laugh awkwardly a bit.

“Yeah, I…” he takes Castiel’s hand hesitantly in his own, he really has no clue how to act around the angel now that he knows what it is he wants. It scares him. Those unwavering blue eyes are staring at him still and Dean can feel the guilty lump in his throat get bigger and bigger with every passing second. Castiel’s fingers wrap around his hand in return and he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Dean?” he asks; his voice is even lower than usual and full of concern.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean finally breaks, the words he’s been thinking over and over again day after night fall free from his lips like an avalanche. The angel tilts his head uncomprehendingly. Dean’s hands are shaking and sweating within Castiel’s firm hold, which is a comfort Dean loathes to selfishly claim. He doesn’t deserve this.

“I left you there, all on your own. How can-,” his voice catches suddenly and he feels his whole body tremble weakly. “I broke my promise to you,” Dean chokes on his own words. “Again.”

Cas’ blue eyes look at him so piercingly, like he’s trying to solve the mystery of creation and Dean was the most intricate of God’s codes. He’s uncomprehending and forgiving and apologising all at once.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says firmly, unwaveringly.

“I remember it, Cas, I remember your hand slipping out of my grasp,” Dean shakes his head, feeling more like he’d just been punched in the gut than been forgiven. Castiel’s still smiling at him gently, though his brows have furrowed with a slightly pained expression.

“No, Dean. You tried so hard to get us out of there…you almost died to keep us going,” he says calmly, raising a hand to the mark upon Dean’s shoulder and gently brushing against it.

“Cas, I know what I did, I was fucking there!” Dean shouts, breaking his hands out of Castiel’s hold and standing up. He’s tense and angry – at himself, cause goddammit, he has failed Sammy more times than he can count and now even his angel too. 

“You’re wrong,” Cas says in that same, infuriatingly calm tone as he presses two fingers to his forehead and the world around Dean explodes in a flurry of blue. He sees himself, dragging Castiel to the space distortion which should supposedly take them back home, but the angel pushes his hand away and falls out of sight.

He feels lightheaded when Castiel’s worried face comes back into focus, and Dean takes a few steps back, gasping for air. He can’t believe what Cas is showing him, he just can’t.

“I…” Castiel hesitates and there’s that vulnerable, human look again which completely throws Dean every time. “I think I did not want to be saved.”

Dean’s look clearly says ‘what the fuck’ because Cas shakes his head, standing up to look him directly in the eyes again.

“I wanted to repent for everything I had done, Dean,” Cas says and the hunter’s hands clench into fists suddenly.

“I tried to save you! I tried so damn hard to get you out,” Dean answers, the words feeling numb on his tongue, like dead weight.

“The way Purgatory affected me… I was not myself,” Cas admits, though guilt echoes in every word falling from the angel’s lips. “I was cut off from Heaven and my Grace began to deteriorate, I was not fully in control of my mind.”

“So… what, you ditched me? I thought we were in this together, Cas! I almost died to get your dumb ass out of there!” Dean is shaking with fury now, but the angel remains oddly calm.

“I was not in my right mind, Dean,” he says and it just makes Dean want to punch him even more.

“I thought you were dead,” he grinds out through in between his teeth angrily. For months, he’d been mourning the loss of his angel, his friend, maybe the only one besides Sammy that he could trust in this whole godforsaken world. And the stupid, feathery-assed angel had left him.

Maybe something had started to develop between them in Purgatory. Dean had finally sorted out his priorities in life and realised what he wanted, or rather _who_ he wanted. Purgatory had awakened him from the stupor he’d been in his entire life. Their dad, living on the road – it hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk and he’d had to escape from that, often to alcohol, food, even sex. Being in Purgatory was, in a sense, like being born again - raw, untamed, learning how to survive all over again. It had cleared his mind, made sense of things which had been hazy to him before.

But then he’d been hurled back to Earth through the blue hole and everything came crashing down on his shoulders again. Cas was gone, Sam was bitching at him 24/7… It was like suffocating, coming back to such a polluted place. It made his very self, probably his very soul, twist and turn as though the walls were closing in on him.

“I was not myself,” Castiel repeats, loud and clear.

Dean could swear the temperature in the room just shot up. The angel looks pissed now and he’s advancing on Dean. “You need to stop blaming yourself for everything, Dean,” Cas says firmly, now almost nose to nose with the hunter. “I’m back now,” he adds more gently, tilting his head to the side slightly and the tension between them seems to unwind, then coil up in a completely different way. Cas is almost radiating power and he’s back in all his Angel of the Lord glory and damn, it’s hot.

Of course, his body decides this is the best time to sprout an awkward boner, with Cas all but pressed into him. The insanely blue eyes seem to be studying his face intently and Dean’s pretty sure his face has already betrayed his discomfort because the angel is glancing up and down curiously and the hunter’s not-so-little problem is quite prominent for the world to see. It’s really not a surprise, because he’s been a walking timebomb since before Purgatory and he still hasn’t managed to get laid. Now there’s Cas, his wonderful, stupid, clueless angel alive and well, right in front of him, so fucking close he can feel their breaths meld together. He’s so relieved and ridiculously happy that Cas is back that he could scream, but obviously won’t. Instead, he takes Castiel’s hand and places it on his own shoulder, where the angel’s handprint is forever burnt. The weight on it is comforting and finally, he leans in for a kiss. His angel responds with a low, rumbling hum of pleasure in his throat, kissing back eagerly. It’s not the first time, but there are no Leviathans lurking in the shadows now, just waiting to rip them both to shreds.

Dean pours all of himself into the kiss, grinding his lips against Cas’. It’s sloppy and needy and conveys every little feeling he’s been keeping locked inside since Purgatory. He missed Cas, he loves Cas, he still blames himself to some extent, but he’s really fucking happy right now and he isn’t letting his angel go again.

Castiel’s lips really are as soft as they look and the way they move against Dean and coax out his tongue is driving the hunter all kinds of crazy. His hands are all over Cas, greedily peeling off his coat. They’re actually trembling a little; he has waited for this for what seems an eternity and now that his angel is back and they’re safe, his mind is reeling with the intensity of it. Cas doesn’t seem to be doing much better – his entire body is pulling Dean closer and closer like he can’t get enough. Dean can’t really blame him for the desperation; he feels the same need coursing through his whole being.

Neither of them thinks about how Sam might get back any minute. They’re tugging and pulling at each other’s clothes in a mad scramble to get closer, hotter, grind up harder. Cas unbuttons Dean’s shirt somewhat clumsily while Dean’s already pulling off the angel’s tie and pushing them towards the single bed in the corner of the room. He can feel the nervousness radiating off Cas, his eyes are wide and pupils dilated with excitement, but he’s still dedicatedly exploring Dean’s mouth. Shirts are off now and they stumble onto the bed in a heap of entwined limbs, movement and heat.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is urgent and breathless as he guides Dean’s hands down to his belt and that’s only as much encouragement as the hunter needs to almost rip the stupid thing off. It’s somewhat like seeing Cas for the first time all over again, because Dean’s never seen him without even his trench coat off, but now here he is, half naked, flushed and desperate for touch. At least he’s still staring at him unwaveringly as always. The annoying belt is off and Dean can finally feel the angel’s erection beneath his fingers. Cas gasps and throws his head back a little in surprise, exposing his throat to Dean’s eager kisses. He doesn’t remain still for long and his fingers are experimentally trailing along the hunter’s muscled stomach, hips, then even further below. He looks like he’s found heaven all over again, completely and utterly mesmerized with how Dean’s breath catches at the contact of somewhat rough hands on his skin. Somehow they manage to make it out of the rest of their clothes and Dean is faced with the full extent of his _‘bad influence’_ on Cas. He’s sprawled out on the bed, cock fully erect and looking nothing like Castiel, stoic Angel of the Lord. Hell, some months ago Dean would have sworn on his own soul that Cas didn’t have a sex drive or was even capable of acting on it should he have one. He’d never been so glad to be proven wrong in his life.

“Cas, you have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he says with a grin before descending on the angel with every intent to kiss, lick and bite every inch of his body.

“I think actually might,” Cas grins back breathlessly and it’s probably the first time Dean’s seen him with such a happy, honest expression on his face. It’s beautiful and he leans in to steal it off his lips. He’d continue exploring Cas slowly for an eternity if he could, but he’s so hard he can hardly think straight, much less control himself. He reigns in the urge to push right in, take Cas fast and dirty, but this really isn’t the right time, so he calms himself down with a few deep breaths. He feels blindly around for lube in his bag at the bottom of the bed and spreads some over his fingers as slowly as he can force himself to. He knows Cas isn’t a bloody girl and he can probably take it, but it’s his first time not just with Dean - _ever_ \- and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make it absolutely perfect.

He had considered letting Cas do him first, back when he had discovered he just might want to have sex with the angel - he’s totally not adverse to that idea either, but somehow things totally didn’t go like he’d anticipated and Cas is now under him, but doesn’t seem to mind it at all. In fact, he looks at Dean with insatiable hunger in his eyes and spreads his legs open just a little, like he can’t wait for Dean to stop being such a slowpoke and hurry the fuck up. Finally, he’s stretching the angel with one, then two fingers, fascinated by how Cas’ back arches off the bed a little and he tries so hard to hold on to his angel integrity or whatever. He’s making all sorts of interesting noises in his throat. They’re not quite grunts nor are they moans, it’s probably something he’s picked up from speaking Enochian, cause Dean is sure he could never replicate such a sound even if he’d spent his entire life practicing. They grow steadily louder though and if Dean isn’t fucking him raw within the next five seconds, he’s probably going to die. It seems like a century of pleasurable torture before he thinks Cas is ready – Dean isn’t exactly small; he doesn’t think he could actually hurt the angel this way, but he really wants this to make Cas feel like sex with Dean is the best thing in the whole of creation.

It looks like his plan is working, because when he finally sinks into Cas’ body, the angel is writhing and shaking and completely incoherent, chanting Dean’s name and some unidentifiable Enochian words under his breath. He’s all the way in and damn, he already feels like his balls are going to explode if he doesn’t come soon. With sheer willpower, he stops his over-eager body from moving all on its own and gives Cas a minute to adjust and pull him down for a couple of kisses again. When he begins to move, his angel is again a heap of incoherent sensation, wrapping his arms around Dean and clawing into his back with his nails. It’s nothing like what Dean is used to, soft, round women who are louder than an ambulance when they get going. In this way, being with Castiel is sort of underwhelming, but perfect on a whole new level. Cas isn’t loud or particularly rough, but he’s desperate for Dean and only Dean, and lets his body respond honestly to every move. He looks completely lost in pleasure and – he hadn’t even noticed when the Angel started to touch himself under Dean, his movements are erratic and inexperienced, but it’s the hottest thing Dean has ever seen and suddenly he feels so _close._

“Cas,” he manages to gasp out simultaneously with a thrust. He’s not sure if the angel heard him, but a second later Cas locks eyes with him. He nods jerkily, unable to vocalise his thoughts, but Dean understands. He pulls Castiel up a bit, so he’s half sitting up against the headboard of the bed and shoves the angel’s hand off his cock so he can grab it in his own, greedily, in one swift move, watching as his angel’s eyes widen and roll back in ecstasy as Dean strokes with practiced ease.

“Go on, Cas, let go for me,” Dean whispers hoarsely, trying to somehow coordinate all his movements and a moment later, Cas stills, gasps and then trembles lightly in his arms, covering the hunter’s hand with sticky, wet mess. Dean doesn’t slow down though and he pulls Castiel back down for a few more hard thrusts before he’s lost in bliss too. He’s never felt so exposed during sex before, Cas is looking him unblinkingly in the eyes and he must look completely stupid with his mouth wide open and pupils dilated like freaking balloons, but he really couldn’t care less.

He collapses on top of Cas in exhaustion and absolutely refuses to move, ever. He feels Cas’ breath even out as his chest rises and falls slowly under his head and there are now fingers in his hair, making him completely relax in the safety of the angel’s embrace.

“That was… extraordinary,” Cas says quietly, his voice airy and hoarse, which makes Dean laugh.

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he grins, looking up at Castiel and once more sealing his mouth with a long kiss, which seems to convey ‘shut up and sleep’ rather well, since in a few minutes, they are both blissfully unconscious.

❖

Sam shakes his head and tries not to look all sorts of extremely uncomfortable when they have breakfast the next day. Where the hell he’d been all night, Dean doesn’t have a clue, but if Sam doesn’t bring it up, he’s not about to ask.

The younger Winchester keeps shooting awkward glances at both him and Cas, who has an impressive bedhead and doesn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort in the slightest.

He opens and closes his mouth as though about to say something, but Dean shoots him a glance that could kill demons in an instant.

“Yeah I’ll get my own room next time,” Sam says awkwardly before making a run for the door because Dean might pull out the guns now. Cas is oblivious to their argument and stares at Dean In that way that clearly says he still can’t quite believe what has happened between them and is completely awestruck. Damn, it’s actually freakin’ adorable. Dean kisses him again and is suddenly struck with the realization that he’ll probably never have enough of that.

 


End file.
